by Tara Brown
I notice the heaviness of it. I taste the sin lingering, like someone cooked something greasy and the smell is ripe in the air.
“Danny!” Marcus’ eyes light up. He rushes the kid and the two of them embrace. It’s weird for me. No one likes Marcus the way Danny does.
Lorelei rolls her eyes and shakes her head before turning to the green-eyed witch. “Anna, this is everyone. Everyone, this is Anna.”
“Anna was the witch who put the guard on Ophelia’s house. She apparently died while doing it, and yet here she is.” I narrow my gaze on Anna as Gwen and Shane wave. Ben and Giselle smile both confused, obviously.
Marcus doesn't care. He and Danny are pulling up the video game controls and Danny is shrieking about glamour being able to run the TVs and consoles.
Sarah clings to me, holding my hand. She goes invisible, but I sense her there. The other kids are clearly unimpressed.
Dawn is clearly unimpressed. “Why are we back here in this dump?”
“I actually missed you kid.” I have to laugh. She’s a breath of fresh perspective.
Anne, the other snarly Nephilim, folds her arms. “It smells here. And no Annabelle. Who does the cooking?”
“I can cook,” Shane replies weakly, fighting a grin.
The girls glare.
“Can you and Giselle keep them company?” I ask softly.
“Sure.” Giselle smiles sweetly. I pass her Sarah’s trembling and invisible hand. “What?”
“Sarah.” I nod at my hand.
“Oh.” She laughs as she reaches, surprised by the clammy warmth of the little hand. “Hi, Sarah.”
“Hi,” the little voice mutters from nowhere.
“Anna, we need to talk.” I provide my hand to the green-eyed witch.
Her lip twitches like she might disagree, but she doesn't. She takes my hand. I wink us to the hallway outside Ari’s bedroom. “The girl in here is my best friend in the whole world. Her dad is an archangel named Dorian.”
Her green eyes widen at that.
“You know him?”
She nods once.
“So, you understand the level of intensity we all feel about her living through the childbirth?” Her eyes answer for her. “And you understand where the baby has to go after this?”
“The garden?” She scowls. “You’d give this magic over to them?”
“Of course. Magic belongs in the garden. And if it’s left out here, Sam will come for it. We don't want that.”
“You are a strange angel, Aimee. You don't want the power for yourself?”
“Of course not.” I scoff. “What the hell would I do with it?”
“Rule. You’re a witch too. You can carry and claim magic, just as easily as anyone else.” Her eyes sparkle and I see bringing her out of the garden was a mistake.
“Yeah well, I’m not one of those power-hungry people. And killing babies to take their magic isn’t really my thing.”
“That's why you’re in charge. Lorri was a smart girl. She knew to give power to the person who wanted it the least.”
Sensing her mocking us, I have a terrible hunch as to how this might turn out. I lean in, ensuring she understands the entirety of my meaning. “I think Lorri picked me because I have the absolute worst case of ‘I don't give a shit’ she ever saw.” I smirk back. “You know what happens when you spend several lives reliving the same garbage and losing everyone you ever cared about multiple times?”
Her eyes widen as the smug grin washes from her, but she doesn't bother answering the rhetorical question.
“You get to a place where you’ll kill just about everyone and not give it a second thought. I don't care about you. I don't give half a shit about whether we live or die. I’ll cleanse everyone and send them to Heaven, staying here by myself if I have to. I don't care about people anymore. Humanity’s lost and the Earth is screwed. I’m not here to fix that. What I do care about is Lillith’s magic making it back to the damned garden where it was stolen from. I’m realizing now that the fae forgiving her for everything and letting her back in and constantly protecting her was more about getting the pieces of magic she stole back, and not about her at all. They care less about her than I do about you. They just want their magic back. And I’m going to give it all to them. Including you.”
She flinches and lifts a finger. “I’m not going back.”
“We’ll see about that, sugar.” Lorelei pops up behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Now, get in there and see about that baby. One wrong move outta you, and I’m gonna feed you to Marcus. He hasn’t had witch in a while.” Her eyes flash with something that scares even me.
Anna sighs and opens the door slowly. Lucas jumps up, snarling as though he’s still a wolf.
“She’s with us,” I mutter.
His eyes narrow but he steps aside, letting her get to the pregnant and sleeping Ari.
Gwen comes strolling down the hall, offering a slight wave. “How’s things?”
“We’re just dandy,” Lorelei groans. “Ari’s about to calve God knows what. I’m full up on going in and out of the garden. Every time I go in and come back out, I feel like something Grandmamma Holt dragged out from under her porch. And Aimee went to see Lorri and she had nothing for us. I’m about out of patience and options. And now we’re letting traitors into the bubble.” Her eyes dart at Anna.
Gwen grins at me. “And how are you?”
“Worried.” I too eyeball the doorway where Anna has gone in to see Ari.
“Can I talk to you?” She forces her smile to stay on her lips.
“Yeah.” I glance at Lorelei. “That witch even contemplates something—anything sinister—let Luke eat her. Wolf is a worse way to die, in comparison to a crying vampire.” I say it just loud enough for Anna to hear.
“We might have to let them share her,” Lorelei groans.
I wink Gwen and me to the Nærøyfjord. Privacy is a must with witches around. Keeping Henry’s words to myself has been brutal. I wanted to tell Lorelei the moment he told me, but I didn’t. I don’t know how.
“We have a problem,” Gwen blurts.
“What?”
“We found something a while back about the witch queen—”
“I know.” I sigh, relieved I can tell someone. “Henry just told me. It’s Lorelei.”
“I figured.” She slumps. “What can we do?”
“Nothing. We have to convince her to kill Sam, take the magic, and then lure her to the garden somehow.” I swallow hard. “I don’t know what happens then.”
“They take back the magic,” she whispers. “I know that much. The witch queen is the only person strong enough to kill the antichrist. Must be a witch, a child of Lillith, blah, blah, blah. I think that when the magic goes to the garden, she has to be sacrificed there, giving it all back. Typical magic, nothing is free.”
“Of course. I kind of wish we were back to the drawing board on plans. This one stinks.”
“Big time.” She blinks a tear from one eye. “I never imagined how this would end, but I guess her dying in the garden makes almost as much sense as Anna still being alive. Anna is the witch who supposedly died making the guards to protect Ophelia. Remember that?”
“Oh yeah, I know.” I nod. “How did she live through that?”
“I don’t know.” Gwen wipes her eyes, smearing a bit of makeup. I almost smile at the fact she still wears it. “But it makes me nervous; all this time she’s been hiding out, not helping, and she didn’t die protecting O like everyone thought she did.”
“You’re right. I got a dodgy feeling off her. She’s obsessed with power. Maybe we should kill her, let Lorelei take the magic from her.”
Gwen nods. “Yeah. Let’s plot that. The moment the babe’s born, we end her.” Gwen gives me a look. “There was something else I wanted to ask.”
“Shoot.”
“When it’s time, can you make sure I go peacefully?” She pauses, her eyes welling again. “I have a fear of death I’ve neve
r had to face before.”
“Of course.” I can’t believe this is the place we’ve reached, planning the deaths of everyone. Everyone but us redeemers.
“Thanks, Aimes. You’re a real friend.” She hugs me, her fingers biting in a bit. “Now let’s come up with something of a story to convince Lorelei that she’s the one who has to kill Sam.”
I wink us back to the house, but to the yard, not the hallway.
Dorian saunters out the back of the house, scowling. “Where were you two?”
“Having a go at a couple of possible plans.” Gwen squeezes me discreetly and saunters off, leaving Dorian and me alone on the back grass.
“Plans?” He lifts a dark eyebrow.
“Plans.” I swallow hard. “I went to see Lorri.”
“Dream walking?” He steps back, visibly uncomfortable.
“Yeah. She said I had to go to Henry and ask him for help and there is a reason the garden is trying to reclaim the magic. She told me we need to figure out a way to make the fae help us.”
“Easier said than done.” He sighs.
“Right, except Lorelei and I went to see Henry.”
“Okay.” He appears prepared for the bad news.
“He says the witch queen has to kill the antichrist, taking the magic. Then she has to be lured back to the garden.”
“She?”
“She,” I confirm.
“Lorelei?” He lowers his voice.
“Yeah. And Gwen said the queen has to be sacrificed in the garden so all the magic will find its way back to the Earth.”
“Sacrificed?” He gulps. “Marcus is never going to let that happen.”
“Right,” I confirm again.
“So that’s the plan?” His eyes widen resembling two black pools.
“That’s it.”
“Wow.” He glances at the house nervously. “Anthony being back isn’t so bad then.”
“What do you mean?”
“Wendigos are intense. He has limited control over himself on a good day.” He comes closer, taking my hand in his. “How long until we have to act on this plan?” His eyes are filled with sudden mischievousness.
“Not long.”
“So just long enough?” He cracks a grin, pulling me into his arms. His lips hover over mine. “I need you, Aimee James.”
“Okay,” I cut to the chase. There’s no point in making him woo me. We don’t have time for wooing anymore. It’s the one thing our relationship has really missed out on.
He winks us to the house my family was just kept at. I can smell them in the air around me. It kills the feelings of romance. He doesn’t notice when he presses my back into the wall behind me and lowers his lips to meet mine. He doesn’t sense my distraction as his hands roam my back, lifting and toying with the hem of my shirt. Every brush of his skin against mine stirs passions, but every inhale of my mom and dad blocks the sexy feelings.
“Wait.” I tilt my head to the side, letting him engulf my neck. “Not here.”
“But it’s clean and intact, and Sam can’t interrupt easily,” he whispers along my nape, giving me the shivers.
“No. I can’t.” I push him back. “Not here. I can still smell them in the air.”
His lips and cheeks twitch like he’s battling with complaining or arguing, but he doesn’t. He sighs and winks us to another spot. I grin, taking in the castle tapestries and smelling the dankness of old stone walls. “Better?”
“Depends. Where are we?”
“Tower of London.” He grins.
“Weird choice.” I turn, a little more interested in seeing the structure I had on my list but had yet to cross off. “Every time I wanted to come here we got busy. I haven’t seen it yet.”
“You haven’t been here before?” His dark eyes burn with unspent passion. “I’ll give you the tour of what remains standing later.” He pulls me close again, resuming where he left off, trailing kisses along my jawline. “Stop thinking about the historical aspects and kiss me.”
“I can’t. Didn’t Anne Boleyn get her last church service here before she was beheaded?” My eyes wander.
“Bloody hell, Aimee.” He grabs my hand and drags me down a hallway. “Ten-minute tour and then we find a bed in this old dump.”
I can’t help but laugh at that.
Chapter 6
The end of love
The Tower of London is in remarkable shape. I don't even know how it’s still standing, untouched. The ten-minute tour turned into a two-hour tour. Dorian obviously had loads of firsthand information about the old castle. He’s been here as a guest many times over the years.
Now, lying in the bed that was intended to demonstrate beds in medieval times, I close my eyes and snuggle into Dorian. I wonder if in all the rest of the world there is a single couple like us, lying in a bed and savoring the last moments they might have.
This won’t be our last moment, just the world’s.
But once Sam’s gone, I don't know what the landscape of our future will look like. If we will find a place to sleep like this, or if his destruction will bring another great fire, burning off the last of the humans. The ones hiding. Surely there must be some left.
“Try sleeping, Aimee. Your contemplating all of eternity will eventually drive one of us crazy,” he mutters into the dark.
“Shut up.” I know which of us he means.
“That’s the point I’m making. Can you silence your busy mind? It’s so loud I can’t sleep.” He sounds droll, even here and now in this moment.
His inability to panic and be emotional is amusing and frustrating. Dorian’s been around for so long, seen so many things, that nothing gets him worked up. Except me.
That's the amusing bit.
“Seriously, stop smiling and babbling on in your head. Go to sleep.”
“No.” I worm my way up into his embrace, placing my head on his chest. “What do you think will happen when Sam dies?”
He pauses for a moment. “I don't know. God’s forgiving in a lot of ways. Oliver and I going to Heaven is a prime example of that. So maybe, we go home. Maybe we’re granted one last chance.” His face turns to mine, his eyes glowing like lit obsidian, reflecting the minimal light coming in the window from the moon. “And if not, you and I do what Marcus said. We find somewhere private and live out eternities, together.”
“Eternity is a long time, Dorian.”
“You won’t get bored.” He grins, making me chuckle.
“You might.” It's a fear I have.
“Let’s worry about young Sam for now. He’s at the top of our list. Then we can discuss the mundane details like how boring it will be spending eternity ravishing you.”
I’m certain that sentence is followed by an eye roll, but with his head back I can’t see it.
“What are we going to do about Sam?”
“I don’t know. Bloody hell. It’s the middle of the night and this is the first time we’ve been alone in a building for months. Can we worry about it tomorrow?”
“Fine.” I sigh.
He pulls closer, kissing the top of my head. I sleep this way and wake this way.
When I open my eyes, it’s light out and Dorian is staring at me.
I cringe, covering my mouth so I don’t breathe on him. “Hey.”
“Morning.” He grins.
“What are we doing about Sam?” I grin back.
“Aimee, if you value your life, you’ll rethink how you wake up in the morning. I prefer something a little more physical and less communicative.”
“Dorian, this is serious. I understand in all your years of craziness, it’s just another whack at fighting the bad guy and plot to save the world. But this time we need to be exact. It’s Sam and he can kill us, exactly as we can kill him.”
“We have Lorelei. She’s better than Lorri.” He lifts a finger in my face. “But I never said that.”
“She is pretty awesome.” I gulp.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Did I mention she has to die.”
“I know.” He winces. “We’ll send her into battle and have Henry retrieve her then?”
“I don’t know. Henry said he wouldn’t help until she had the power. We need a plan, but we also need a part two where Lorelei is taken care of.”
“Right, that is problematic.”
“And Henry loves her. He won’t hurt her. Not intentionally. He likely will do it nicely.”
“And like I said last night, Marcus won’t let this happen. We also have to fight him.” He nods. “I say we tell her. Lorelei knows this needs to end. She doesn’t care if she sacrifices herself. She’s more dedicated than anyone else.”
“You think she’ll die for this?”
“We all will die for this, Aimee. In some way, we will die for this. In a lot of ways, we have already.” His eyes do the serious thing again, the one that always scares me just a little. I don’t like to accept that Dorian is a villain, but it’s there, the same way it is for Marcus. They’re villains. There’s no denying it. Blake calls them chaotic good, but they’re still villains.
Blake.
I need to find Blake and see if he’s all right.
My brain is a jumbled mess.
Ari.
“How long have we been gone?” I climb out of the bed, struggling against his grip.
“Not long enough.”
“We need to check on Ari. She could give birth any moment. And Blake. I have to make sure he’s okay.”
“Aimee,” he pauses, “Blake won’t ever be okay. No man recovers from that level of loss—angel or not.”
“Right. I didn’t mean okay. I meant like not suicidal.”
“I wouldn’t count him out.” He gets up reluctantly, pulling on his clothes. I have to pause and watch. Seeing Dorian dressed is magnificent but naked is something else, something better. His body has an unassuming level of hotness you don’t expect. Not from an English guy. He drinks too much wine to be this perfect. But he’s an angel, so of course he’s got that molded-by-God look to him.
I swallow hard as he buttons his dress shirt. He still wears dress shirts. It’s funny.